Marrying Mr. Greyson

(Alice’s POV)

The rain hadn’t stopped since morning. It tapped softly against the tinted glass of the hospital window, each drop echoing the pounding of my heart. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and something colder — like the silence before bad news.

I sat there, my palms damp, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat. The ticking of the wall clock was deafening.

Then the door opened.

The doctor — a woman in her mid-forties with kind eyes — walked in, holding a clipboard pressed to her chest. She smiled gently, as if afraid her words might break me.

“Mrs. Markston,” she began, her tone too calm, too careful. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant…”

My heart lurched.

She looked up from the papers. “…with twins.”

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. The world tilted — or maybe I did. Pregnant? With twins?

I blinked, shaking my head, my voice barely a whisper. “B-but I’ve been taking the pills.”

The doctor’s smile faltered, replaced by quiet concern. “Is there any day you missed taking them?”

I searched my memory, panic flickering in my eyes. My mind had been foggy these past weeks — endless board meetings, the tension at home, the sleepless nights replaying old arguments. Had I missed a day? I couldn’t remember.

“I… I don’t know,” I muttered finally, my throat tightening.

“Sometimes,” she said gently, “birth control pills don’t always work.” Then her voice softened, hesitant. “Don’t you want the child, ma’am?”

The question hit me harder than the news itself. My lips parted, and before I could stop myself, the truth came out like a whisper meant for no one to hear.

“I don’t.”

The word hung in the air, cruel and final.

The doctor’s expression shifted — pity, maybe, or quiet understanding — but she didn’t press. Instead, she glanced at the ultrasound screen, then back at me. “I understand. But I should tell you this, Mrs. Markston… you’ll have to take care of these children. Your uterus is slightly deformed. Getting pregnant again might be impossible.”

The last line sank into me like a blade. Impossible.

I sat there, numb, my fingers trembling on my lap. So this was it. Fate’s cruel little irony — the child I hadn’t planned for might be the only one I’d ever have.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice distant, barely human. “Thank you, doctor.”

I gathered my bag and left before my tears could betray me.

---

The drive home blurred into muted colors — gray skies, wet asphalt, city lights bleeding into puddles. My thoughts kept circling back to the past, to the man whose name I still bore like a chain around my neck.

Vincent Markston.

Two years ago, I had walked into his office as Alice Kingston— a quiet girl with too much hope and not enough sense — and walked out as his wife.

Not out of love. Out of a contract.

“You will be my contract wife,” he’d said, his voice cold and measured as he slid a stack of papers across the desk.

I could still smell the faint mix of leather, whiskey, and expensive cologne that clung to him — the scent that haunted me for months afterward.

I remembered reading through the clauses, my stomach twisting when I reached the third one. “No children in the marriage.”

That day, I should have walked away. But I didn’t.

Back then, he’d been kind. Thoughtful, even. I told myself there was warmth behind those walls he built. That maybe, with time, he’d learn to love me.

But then she came back.

His first love. The woman who had been away for years receiving treatment abroad. The woman whose name still echoed through his sleep.

From that moment, the Vincent I knew ceased to exist.

---

When I finally pulled into the driveway of the Markston mansion, the rain had stopped. The air smelled of wet earth and roses — his mother’s roses — carefully tended, beautiful, and utterly lifeless to me.

I sat in the car for a long time, staring at the ornate iron gates. My reflection on the windshield looked pale, hollow. This wasn’t home anymore — just a cage decorated with chandeliers.

When I stepped inside, the silence was heavy. No servants in sight, no sound from upstairs. Only the faint tick of the grandfather clock echoing through the marble hall.

I went straight to the bathroom, shedding my clothes one by one until I stood before the mirror.

The woman staring back at me didn’t look like a wife. Or a lover. Just a stranger trapped in a life she hadn’t chosen.

My gaze dropped to my stomach — still flat, still unchanged — but the knowledge of what lay beneath made my chest ache. Inside me, two fragile lives had begun to form.

My hands trembled as I pressed them over my abdomen. “I’ll protect you sweethearts,” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a prayer.

---

Later that night, exhaustion claimed me. I drifted onto the couch, half-asleep when a knock startled me awake.

It was late — too late for visitors. I tightened my robe and went to the door.

When I opened it, my breath hitched.

Vincent’s friend stood there, supporting him by the shoulders. Vincent was slumped, his face flushed, his shirt half undone — drunk.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice low, concern slipping out despite myself.

The friend smirked. “He wanted to celebrate my return. One drink became too many.”

I bit back a sigh. “Give him to me. I’ll take care of him.”

He chuckled and passed Vincent to me. “Goodnight, Mrs. Markston.”

The moment the door closed, silence filled the house again — except for Vincent’s unsteady breathing. I guided him to the couch, lowering him gently.

Even drunk, he looked breathtaking — all sharp lines and cold beauty. The kind of man who could shatter you just by saying your name.

I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You’re impossible,” I whispered bitterly.

I had wanted to tell him tonight. About the twins. About everything. But as I looked at him — lost in a world that didn’t include me — I knew this wasn’t the right time.

Sighing, I loosened his tie. As I reached for his jacket, his phone vibrated against my palm.

I shouldn’t have looked.

I knew I shouldn’t.

But my fingers moved anyway.

The screen lit up with a single message.

> “Vincent darling, remember our plans to visit the hot spring tomorrow. I booked a suite for us.”

My heart went still.

The phone slipped from my hands, landing softly on the bed. For a moment, all I could do was stare. Then the realization cut through me like glass.

Her.

Of course. His first love. My stepsister. The perfect woman he could never forget.

Now she is back. And she had him again.

My lips trembled as I turned away, tightening the robe around me. The tears came hot and fast, burning down my cheeks.

Inside me, two tiny lives grew quietly. The only proof that I still had something worth holding onto.